Tolog Mellon
by Nosterineth
Summary: Legolas simply wanted to take back what was his, but due to a mistake he found more than he had bargained for. Can Aragorn save him? And can he survive this adventure? Based on Mellon Chronicles, slash-free. 2009 MEFA Nominee.
1. The Brooch

A/N: Slightly AU, since Birlinn does not exist. The story is based on _The Mellon Chronicles_ by Cassia and Siobhan and slash-free. _Tolog mellon_ is Elvish for _loyal friend_ and was translated by Calenlass Greenleaf1. Thank you!  
Disclaimer: I own nothing of LOTR and I get no profit from the story. I wrote it only for entertainment.  
Beta: Istnes

Tolog Mellon

**1. The Brooch**

"Legolas."

"Yes, father?" the Prince entered Thranduil's study and approached the desk where the King was sitting.

"Last month I was in Birlinn, a nearby, little town."

"Yes, I remember," he nodded.

"There lived a man who had something that was stolen many years ago – an old brooch, which used to belong to my mother. He had found it, but didn't want to give it back. Finder's keepers, he said. But he promised to make his son give it to me when he died."

"Mhm." Legolas had heard this before, but he was curious about his father's current plans.

"Well, he died a few days ago. Unfortunately, I am very busy right now and cannot leave Mirkwood. Legolas, I want you to find that son of his and take back the brooch. Can you do this?"

"Of course, father. Who exactly am I looking for?"

"The old man was called Murdo, but I do not know his son's name. Birlinn is not far away. A day, maybe one and a half, from here."

"When am I leaving?"

"As soon as possible." The Elven King smiled. "I reckon tomorrow morning should be fine."

Legolas nodded again and wanted to leave, but his father stopped him at the threshold. "Legolas… Please, do not take Aragorn with you."

The Prince turned back and frowned at the older elf. "Why?"

"Well, people in that town do not like Rangers. Generally, they are not hospitable at all, and tend to mistrust strangers. So please, be careful. Should you have any problems with making Aragorn stay here, tell me. I will get him to help in the garden. Is he a good gardener?"

"Err... I have no idea," the Prince admitted. "But I certainly would not trust him with the flowers," he giggled.

--

Legolas looked around. The town didn't seem nice. The people were roughly staring at him with unfriendly eyes. His father was right; they did not like strangers. The elf wondered why. Did they fear them?

The sun was lazily going down, announcing the end of the day. Legolas wished to find the man with the brooch as soon as possible, and leave the town. He didn't like the idea of staying in the town any longer than necessary.

"I don't even know where he lives," the Prince murmured subconsciously, shaking his head. 'Where can I get such information?' he asked himself. Suddenly, a stream of loud, cheerful, and careless laughter reached his ears. _Of course,_ he thought. _The inn!_

He slowly turned toward the old building. The old wooden sign-board was hardly readable, and the elf was not sure whether it said _Grey Fog_ or _Grey Dog_. He approached the door and pulled his hood up, hiding his long hair and pointed ears. Showing his identity would not help him, so he decided to pretend to be a human. It was the only tactic he had, and it seemed to be the safest one. Then, he opened the door and stepped inside. The place was dirty and crowded. Thick smoke filled the interior, and he was positive that the name of the place was actually _Grey Fog_. The floor looked as if it had not been cleaned in a thousand years; the dust covering it muted the steps of a man, not to mention light steps of an elf. But, unfortunately, the tavern smelled even worse than it looked. Sweat, alcohol, and dirt attacked his nose and, for a moment, Legolas thought he might just pass out. He could not believe that anyone was able to enjoy themselves in such a disgusting place.

All faces around turned at him as soon as he came in, and all the conversations suddenly paused. No one failed to recognize that he was a stranger. Everyone remained silent for about thirty seconds. Legolas stopped for a moment, too. Even though he knew very well that he should have expected this kind of reaction, he was surprised by it. Realizing that his behavior only drew more attention to him, he moved forward and approached the counter in a few steps.

He didn't like visiting places like this one, and always avoided them – if he could. However, now he had no choice. Entering the local tavern was the only way to accomplish his mission. Although he felt very uncomfortable, he tried to be genuine, denying the stress that stirred inside of him.

"How can I help you?" The innkeeper asked, pretending to be friendly, but the elf sensed the mistrust and caution in his voice.

"I am looking for a man named Murdo," he answered, pretending not to know about his death.

"I am sorry, but Murdo died a week ago. You have come too late." The man desperately wanted to finish the talk, so he turned his back, but the Prince continued.

"Then please tell me, where can I find any member of his family?"

"He had no family," the owner of the tavern lied, not wanting to cooperate.

"He has a son," Legolas replied, keeping his voice even, certain that his knowledge would surprise, or maybe even scare, the innkeeper. Indeed, the man looked daggers at him and sighed. "Alright, so he does."

"Then tell me where he lives and I'll leave your inn as soon as possible," the elf demanded.

"I am Murdo's son," someone suddenly drearily whispered in his ear. He swung around, looking into the man's face. He was slim, and slightly taller than Legolas, his hair rather short and jet black. "What do you want from me?"

"You have something that belongs to me," Legolas said simply.

"Oh, really? And what is it?" Murdo's son inquired, not sure what the newcomer was talking about.

"Something that your father found long ago. An old brooch."

"Oh, yes, I remember it. My father told me to give it to a blond elf. But you do not look like an elf."

"Let's go outside. I don't want everyone to stare at me when I show you what I am."

"They all are already staring at you because you're a stranger here, master elf. And they will watch you even when you leave the inn. But if it makes any difference to you, let's go outside."

They strode toward the door. The black-haired man was right. Everyone kept looking at Legolas, and didn't even try to hide this fact. The Prince was relieved to leave the tavern. When he stepped outside the cool, fresh, and clean air touched his nostrils. He took a deep breath, enjoying the moment. A moment later he heard the door shut, and Murdo's son approached him, and stood in front of him.

"Now give me the proof that that you are who you claim to be," the man ordered. Legolas slowly pulled the hood away. Strands of blond hair fell on his shoulders, uncovering his pointed ears. His delicate elven features were very distinct. He could not be mistaken for a human now.

"Is it enough for you?" The Prince looked at the man, wishing to finish his visit in Birlinn soon.

"Yes," murmured the man. "Come with me, I will return to you the brooch."

The elf followed him through the dark, narrow, and bumpy streets. If he had been alone, he surely would have gotten lost here. Fortunately, Murdo's son knew the town very well and led the Prince straight to his house.

"Here we are," he announced, opening the door to an old, and nearly ruined, house. Legolas cautiously stepped in. The interior, unlike the façade, was clean and cozy. There was a small fireplace opposite to the door, before which stood an old armchair with a funny, red pillow, contrasting with the grey walls and floor. On the Prince's left there was an overstuffed table with two chairs. Apparently this was not a flat for many people, and he suspected that Murdo and his son had been its only inhabitants. Now, since Murdo was gone, his son lived here alone.

"Here," the man said, coming down the stairs and appearing next to the elf's right side. He handed him a little wooden box. "Here is your brooch."

Legolas wanted to open it and check if the jewel was really inside, but the lid wouldn't move.

"I can't open it." He looked at the human and indicated to the tiny keyhole. "Bring me the key."

"I don't have it," his interlocutor said, accompanying the words with a shrug of his shoulders.

"What?" Legolas questioned, piercing him with his eyes. Could this be some kind of a trick?

"You heard. My father gave me this box and told me to give it to a blond elf, if he should demand it. But he didn't give me the key."

"Then get me a knife." Legolas decided he should not leave without making sure that it was actually the brooch that was held in the box. The man brought him a long, thin dagger. The Prince silently pressed the blade into the slit under the lid and lifted it with a swift movement. He smiled at the content of the box. It was undoubtedly his grandmother's brooch. He noted a slight inscription in Elvish.

"This is it." The Prince turned his attention to the man standing next to him. "Thank you for your help." He cast him a serious, but nice, glare, and turned on his heel. The human did not answer, only watching the odd visitor leave his house and gently closing the door.

Legolas hid the jewel in an inner pocket of his coat, pulled the hood on again, and marched… But to where? He tried to find his way out of the town, wandering around, but immediately ended up getting lost. He tried to search for the way back to Murdo's son's place, hoping to come back the same way the young man had led him, but he eventually only ended up confusing himself even more. The town seemed to be a maze, so he decided to pick a random way and go straight forward. Finally, he would have to end up _somewhere_, wouldn't he?

It was dark and pouring rain when Legolas reached the main part of the city. He was relieved to have found a proper path, but all of a sudden, breaking into his happiness, he heard some excited voices behind him.

"That's him, that's the thief! Get him!"

The Prince wanted to turn back and face the men who undoubtedly must have mistaken him for someone else, but something heavy landed on his shoulders. He lost his balance, stumbling forward. He had not expected anything like this. He fell to the ground; only his elven reflex's allowing him to quickly stretch his arms out, and save his face from being smashed into the pavement. The weight on his back growled threateningly into his ear. He subconsciously shielded his head with his hands, but that was a mistake. Sharp fangs aggressively caught his right forearm and refused to let it go.

The elf did not dare move and he was not sure what was happening around him until he heard two more men approach him.

"Take that foul dog away now, I don't want it to rip him to shreds!" one of them bellowed. The other man laughed.

"Do not worry, he only kills on command. The lad will be fine. Considering dog bites, of course, because I am not responsible for anything else." The elf did not understand what that person was talking about, but he did not like it at all.

"I said take it away, Burza!"

The dog owned whistled shortly and Legolas' arm was released. The animal easily jumped over the Prince and ran towards his master. Someone took Legolas by his shoulders and roughly forced him into a sitting position.

"Stealing from Murdo, are we?" A wicked, scarred face appeared just before his own, and the elf couldn't help but to quickly pull away.

"I have not stolen any-" he started to speak, but the man silenced him with a brutal kick to his stomach. The Prince gasped and doubled over.

"Do not explain yourself; we all know the truth," said the ugly-faced man, kicking the slender being in the ribs. "Bind him," he ordered, and Burza obeyed, tightly binding Legolas' wrists.

"I have not done anything, I can explain-" the elf was still sure it all was just a mistake, and tried to speak again, but this only earned him a vicious slap in the face.

"Shut up or I'll have your tongue cut out of your pretty mouth!" The threat was serious and Legolas obeyed, feeling it was for the best. He really did not wish to find out whether the man would follow up on his threat or not.

"Now bring him to the Town Prison, Burza." The command made the Prince shiver. His situation was getting graver with almost every word he heard from these men.

"Aye. Which cell should I place him in?" Burza answered with a question. "Can it be the _Dark Cell_?" Legolas swallowed hard, waiting for the response, which was made all the harder with the air of suspension around the men. He had no idea what the Dark Cell was, but the name itself was dreadful enough. He had no wish to find out what the cell itself was like.

"No, just a normal one." He heard, and sighed in relief.

"As you wish." Legolas was drug to his feet and forced to face Burza. "Now I expect no tricks or Shady here will make sure you are nice and obedient." The man gestured to the large black dog sitting beside him, awaiting a command. Legolas swallowed once more and let both the man and the dog escort him to the prison. Distressing thoughts whirled through his mind the whole time. He hoped to be able to explain everything in the morning and, what was more, to be believed. But what if he would not be? He immediately shrugged this thought away. It simply _had_ to be fine.


	2. Silent Tears

**A/N: There are slight references to Cassia and Siobhan's „****Captive of Darkness" in this chapter, but you do not have to know CoD plot to understand my story. **

**2. Silent Tears**

The cell was dark, dim, and dreary. Legolas was silently sitting in a corner with his knees pressed to his chest, and his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Horrific memories flashed through his mind and the elf could not help but to tremble slightly. He hated and feared such closed in places.

There was a small barred window high above his head, but in the night there was no light to come into the prison and cheer up a broken-hearted soul, or to calm down a scared mind. Long, heavy chains lie on the floor in the corner opposite to the one occupied by the Prince. The Elf was glad that when they had reached the jail his wrists had been untied and the chains were not placed on him. He was not sure he would be able to stand it. It's not that he was not already uncomfortable and frightened enough. But if he had also been bound here, he probably would have panicked.

Slowly, wishing to turn his attention to something else other than the cell, to block the stream of painful and dreadful memories, he raised his eyes toward the little window, hoping to see the starryb night sky. But from this angle he could see nothing but the cold, unfriendly, and thick stone wall of the prison building.

Despair mercilessly filled his heart, making his breathing faster, and less controllable. Why was he imprisoned? He had not stolen anything. It all was just a fatal mistake. He was not guilty. He knew this, but he had not yet been proven innocent. And, to be honest, what evidence was there? Only Murdo's son's testimony. What if he did not confirm the elf's innocence? Or if no one believed him? Would Legolas be forced to stay here for long? And _how_ long?

He realized he was a stranger here and these people did not like, nor trust, strangers. In a gesture of hopelessness he laid his forehead on his knees. Did he have any chances to get away from here?

He did not know the answer. He was not even sure he wanted to.

A short thought of Aragorn cropped up in his mind, making the Prince smile against the helplessness. Surely his friend would understand that something had gone wrong. Legolas believed that Strider could find a way to help him, once he found him. If he did at all. But the Prince knew his friend very well and was positive it was just a matter of time.

Slightly relieved, the elf fell asleep, now blissfully calm, and unaware of the gravity of his situation.

***

He did not know what had made him wake up. He did not raise his head; he only wished to sleep on, to slip into that wonderful forgetfulness again.

"Wake up! I have a piece of information for you." Legolas immediately recognized Burza's voice. He slowly looked into the man's face.

"I am innocent," He stated, his eyes begging the dog owner to believe him.

"I am not the one who has to decide whether that is true or not," was the response. "Now shut your mouth and listen; I will **not** be repeating anything." When the elf nodded, Burza continued: "As a stranger, you surely do not know the rules here. Although little crimes are a common thing, we do not like it, and we fight it. You will undoubtedly pay for what you have done."

"And if I have not done anything?" Legolas cut in.

"Prove it," the man demanded and, before the prisoner could open his mouth again, he carried on. "Know that every month we traditionally execute the worst criminal by burning him on the stake. As of yet, you are the worst one -- but there are still ten days to the execution."

Legolas shivered. So he most likely had only ten days of life left?

Burza noted his distress and smiled wickedly. "There is only one way you can avoid being burned. Someone else must commit a worse crime than yours. But do not bear much hope, there is a very strong possibility that this will not happen. Also know that this traditional death in Birlinn lasts for…" The man paused, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air. "Well, that depends. Sometimes it's just a matter of hours, but there was once a lad who managed to stay alive, roasting for two weeks, the little devil. Can you imagine it? Two weeks! Surely you are curious why. The sentenced criminal is poisoned and tied to a pillar. If the people have mercy, they might demand burning him earlier, but usually they just stand there and watch him cry and moan in pain. And, naturally, he is kept conscious the whole time."

Legolas' heart was now racing in horror. Was this his future? Was this the way the Prince of Mirkwood was going to die?

"Any questions?" Burza demanded.

"Just one. What will you do with me if a worse criminal is found in time?" The elf was almost afraid to ask, but he could not resist. He wanted to know as many details as possible about what was to come. He was, after all, a warrior, and a Prince. He needed to keep his decorum up.

"We will probably release you. You will be absolutely useless then, especially considering the fact that imprisonment is already a huge punishment to you," the man replied, not showing any emotions. "Don't you elves have prisons?"

"We do."

"Then what's the problem with this one?" Burza mercilessly teased Legolas.

"There is none." The Prince turned his head away. He had his pride. He was not going to confess to anyone, he refused to show his own weakness, especially to someone like this man. That would only provoke the man to mistreat him further, and Legolas wished to avoid that if he could.

"Very well." The dog owner turned back. "Someone will bring you something to eat in a few hours," he added, and quickly left the prison. Legolas watched him go from behind the metal bars.

He buried his face hopelessly in the sleeves of his coat. He was once again alone, in a dark cell, with scary thoughts as his only companion. Now there was no escape; he was sure of it. No one could help him. Not even Aragorn. And there was no way to tell anyone what had befallen him, not to mention bidding them farewell, or thanking his friends and his father for all help, friendship, and love they had given to him over the years.

A stream of light from the early sunset entered the cell, but brought no solace to the lonely being. Instead of seeing hope, he could now only see the chains lying in front of him more clearly. A large spider crept across the floor. Legolas stared at it blankly until the arachnid hid somewhere in the far corner, surely not wishing to meet the warm light of the new day.

***

Aragorn wandered aimlessly around the forests of Mirkwood, deep concern written clearly across his face. Lost in thought, he did nit notice a protruding root on his path and stumbled, nearly falling on his face.

It had been a week since Legolas had left for Birlinn. He should have returned -- at least -- two or three days ago. The man feared for his friend. He knew that Legolas did not like visiting human towns. What could have caused the delay?

Aragorn needed to find out. Evening was coming and the Ranger slowly marched back towards the royal palace. Although he had never been to Birlinn himself, he knew more or less where it was, and this was all that he needed. After a few minutes he had a neat, little plan in his head.

***

The stars were glowing in the dark, night sky, faultlessly indicating cardinal directions. The moon, although hidden behind thin clouds, shined coldly and fiercely, refusing to cover the world with total darkness.

He cautiously peeked out from a corner. There was no one around. Soundlessly, he crept toward the nearest tree, willing to move in the shadow, where he was more difficult to spot. He _was_ a skilled fugitive, after all. Being Elladan and Elrohir's adopted brother allowed him to learn how to avoid being noticed and how not to leave a trail. His great experience was visible in his every movement, in the way he kept his arms, stepped with his feet, and watched all the surroundings, even in his eyes. But, of course, no one could see him now.

Aragorn knew that the Elven King would not approve of this. Otherwise, he would not be forced to escape secretly; he would simply take a horse and ride straight to Birlinn. However, sneaking out with a horse was much more difficult than doing this alone, and the man would not risk getting caught. He knew he would not get another chance to leave Mirkwood in this manner.

He reached the high wall, which was a border between the Elven habitation and the outer forest, which was exactly where he wanted to be. There was currently a little hole in it, and Thranduil was planning to get it fixed in a few days, but, as of now, it was the perfect exit for the slim Ranger. Although he knew this place was strictly guarded, the patrol was not there at the moment, undoubtedly checking some other part of the area they were supposed to be patrolling. Aragorn was aware that he had only a little bit of time. He approached the hole and forced his shoulders through it. It was smaller than he had expected, and he had to struggle to pull his upper body free, but was finally met with success. Once his shoulders were on the other side, the rest of his body crowded through with no trouble, and the man hurried off into the night.

An hour later he decided to stop and have some sleep. It would not be until late morning when the elves noticed his absence, and he would set out again before dawn. He realized that whatever had caused Legolas to stay in the town this long was surely not a pleasant thing, and so he was a bit afraid of what he might find there. Strider was positive he would need some strength for whatever would go down in Birlinn, so he quickly climbed a large tree in order to spend the night on its thick branches, well hidden in the foliage.

***

The sun was already rising, turning the sky pink-orange, and sending its light and warmth to the earth down below, when Aragorn woke up. Angry with himself, he somehow clumsily jumped off the tree. He did not like how long he had slept, considering the fact that he would have to find a way to the town he had never visited before. However, the fresh, summer morning air encouraged him to continue the journey, giving him strength and will to walk. He hurriedly ate some berries he managed to find in the forest, and drank some cool water from a nearby source. Then, he strode toward Birlinn.

He marched all day and, despite some minor trouble with finding his way, he entered the town around dusk.

The first thing he realized was that everyone was staring at him as if he was leading a tame warg on a leash. If _he_ was such a sensation here, then how had they reacted to the sight of an _elf_? All the glances around were definitely not friendly ones and the fact only managed to deepen the fear he had for Legolas.

The Ranger quickly found the only inn in Birlinn and entered it. Ignoring the unpleasant smell and, pretending that the omnipresent smoke did not obscure his vision, he sat in the corner, by a little, rather disused table and watched the patrons, hiding his own eyes under the hood of his old, leather coat. He focused on their conversations, hoping to gather some information, but it was not an easy task, since no one talked about what people usually talked about. Aragorn heard some whispered 'ranger'-s, 'what is he doing here?'-s and even some offensive epithets, most certainly directed at him. He chose to ignore them, as making a fuss would not help him to discover what had befallen his friend.

After about half an hour, everyone started to ignore the silent newcomer, who did not seem to be paying any attention to his surroundings.

Aragorn listened to them carefully, catching a few hushed and indistinct, but very important, words that sounded like 'elf' and 'cell'. He could not catch the details, but hearing what he had, he was almost sure that the Prince had been accused of something and imprisoned. Now it was time to find out more.

He knew that these people would not be kind to him, so he did not bother to be polite either. He approached the nearest table and leaned toward the man sitting by the wall, placing his left hand on the table top to support himself, and kept the right one near his body, ready to draw his sword should the men refuse to cooperate.

"What did you say about the elf?" he inquired firmly.

"It's none of your business," the native answered roughly.

"Are you sure?" Strider cast him a threatening glance. Although his face was hidden in the shadow of the hood, his intentions were clear: the Ranger wanted the answer and wanted it now.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you!" The other man said, frightened, and eager to avoid trouble. He did not like what he was doing, and his mistrust fought his fear, but he had heard many tales of the Rangers' deadly fighting skills, so he finally decided to tell the stranger whatever he wanted.

"Then speak and do it quickly; I am not a patient man." Aragorn intentionally lowered his right hand toward the hilt of his sword. Threatening this man was a good tactic and Strider was sure he would not risk lying. Naturally, the Dúnadan intended him no harm, but _he_ did not have to know that.

"A week ago a blond elf was found stealing from Murdo's son. So they put him into the prison and, in all likelihood, will kill him in three days," the frightened man summarized the events of the last few days.

"What!? Kill him!?"

"Yes, it's a tradition. Every month the worst criminal is poisoned and burned on the stake. And there is only one way for him to survive…" The man hesitated, but Aragorn remained silent, waiting. Although he did not make a single movement, he was dying to know how to save his friend without falling into more trouble. "There must be a worse criminal to take his place. Then, the first one will usually be released."

Strider slowly closed is eyes for a second, saying these words in his mind a few times. Then, he opened them again and looked into the other person's face.

"What is considered a worse crime than theft?" he asked quietly.

"Why are you asking?" the patron frowned at Estel.

"None of your business," the Ranger murmured simply. "Answer".

"I-I don't know… An arson, maybe?"

"'Maybe'?" he repeated the older man's last word.

"For sure," the other one corrected himself immediately. The black-coated man did not reply this time. He slowly straightened and nodded, not looking at the patron anymore, obviously thinking about something quite intensely. He turned and strode to the exit without a word. He had learned what he needed and staying inside would only be a useless waste of time. Everyone watched him leave the tavern, not expecting such a reaction.

Aragorn stepped out and marched toward what seemed to be the main part of Birlinn. Prisons were usually located there. Lost in thought, he did not even notice the heavy rain which started to fall when the Dúnadan was still in the inn.

A tall man with a large, jet black dog was standing in front of the door of a big stone building. A distinct inscription on its front read: Birlinn Town Prison.

Estel walked the jail around and found exactly what he was looking for: a small ground level window. He crouched and peeked into the small cell. At first he could not see anything but darkness, but after a few seconds he caught a glimpse of a fair-haired person sitting in the corner, just beneath the window. He glanced sadly at the tip of his head, not sure what to think about. Was he seeing his friend for the last time in his life? Unexpectedly, he felt tears gathering in his eyes, but refused to let them out. It was time to act, not get emotional. He was about to leave when, suddenly, the prisoner started to sing. Aragorn leaned on the wall, trying to see something more than strands of blond hair. He immediately recognized his friend's voice, as well as the tune. Legolas was singing an old elvish song about hope and true friendship, stronger than anything in the world.

The Ranger was already so wet because of the rain that he did not even notice silent tears running across his cheeks.


	3. The Stake

**3. The Stake**

The sun was already above the horizon when Burza entered the prison, closely followed by Shady. The dog was calm now and even gave a friendly wag of his tail aimed at the prisoner. He had no reason not to. His tongue was casually stuck out of his mouth, as if he was smiling.

Legolas did not know why they had come this early in the morning; his food was usually brought much later – about midday. He did not even look at them, certain that Burza was going to mistreat him again, laughing at his uneasiness. The guard did not comment on his state this time, though. The elf slowly raised his eyes and sighed in relief when he saw that he was not looking at him the way he had expected. Burza had not come to mentally maltreat him. He was now curious about the purpose of this visit.

"Get out," the man ordered, opening the bars to the cell. Legolas did not move. He was sure he had misheard him.

"Are you deaf?" the dog trainer got angry. "Get away from here! Now," he repeated in a much less friendly tone than before.

Legolas was confused. Could it be true? Were they really releasing him? After spending a week in this creepy place, haunted by memories, he was virtually afraid to believe the man. It sounded too good to be real.

The Prince took this as a cruel lie, but even as that thought crossed his mind a new, tiny spark of hope was lit deep in his heart.

"What? Wh-why?" he finally sputtered out.

Burza sighed and shook his head. He hated giving out explanations, but he resisted the temptation to scold the elf. This would be only a waste of time. "A foolish, dark-haired lad has committed a more serious crime. Really stupid of him; he will be burned instead of you. And we don't need you here anymore. Live the town and promise to never come back or I'll have no choice but to get rid of you in another way," he threatened menacingly.

Legolas was so shocked that he could not a say a word. It _was_ true. He was free! Not able to make a sound, he simply nodded his head, not wishing to return to Birlinn. Burza stepped out of the way, letting the prisoner easily leave the cell. The Prince looked into his eyes for the last time, and then he quickly passed the black dog, who was still standing in the middle of the narrow passageway. He felt a bit sorry for the unknown criminal, but there was no time to bemoan him. He eagerly left the dreary building and something inside him made him – unwillingly – stop right outside of it. He was exceedingly happy to see the blue sky, white clouds lazily floating high above, and the warmly shining sun. He was happy to be alive.

He hurried towards the main gate of Birlinn. He could hear a few men, probably other guards struggling with their new prisoner in a parallel alley, but did not stop. He only wished to go back home as soon as possible.

***

"Burned the innkeeper's house, eh?" An ugly man with a frightening, scarred face looked daggers down at the criminal.

Aragorn did not respond. He only struggled with the men who held his arms, pretending that he was trying to break free. Actually, he knew that escaping was out of the question. It would only put Legolas in danger again, and that was the last thing he wanted. So he kept struggling simply to seem more genuine in his behavior.

When they reached the main prison the twisting Ranger managed to accidently catch a glimpse of a longhaired, blond person far away, quickly approaching the town gate. He smiled slightly to himself, ceasing to struggle for a split second, merriness filling him, most likely for the last time. The elf was safe now and had left the town. He would be fine. He would return to Mirkwood without trouble and live there happily with his father, his friends, and his people. And he would not get into trouble as often as he did now… Aragorn wished that sentence could refer to him as well.

He heard a heavy door open and he was harshly dragged into a dark building – the prison. The men leading him roughly threw the Ranger to the stone floor. Strider fell on his hands and knees, his head dropped between his shoulders and his hair obscured his vision, somehow protecting him from the surrounding unfriendliness of the men, the building, and even of the air around him.

"Do you know the rules of Birlinn well enough to be aware that you've just sentenced yourself to a _very_ painful death by being poisoned and burned on the stake?" He heard a wicked voice. Estel looked into the speaker's eyes. It was Burza, and he was not being polite at all. His dog stood next to him and snarled hatefully at the new prisoner. The Dúnadan swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Very well," the guard snidely replied as both he and Shady left the prison.

Aragorn was left alone. He stood up and looked around. The place was dim, even with the sunlight breaking inside through the barred windows. The gray, cold walls gave him a dreadful, claustrophobic sensation. He was scared; there was no point denying it. He was not sure what he feared. Pain? Death? He had faced them so many times that he should not have been so afraid. What he feared was the unknown. He had not met this kind of pain before. He had never been poisoned nor burned. How much could this hurt, anyway?

He wistfully looked toward the window, not sure whether this would bring him comfort or further suffering. A few hours before he had stood there, though on the other side of the bars. Yet he did not regret anything. He had made up his mind much earlier, in the tavern, and he would not change it. Whatever the price he had to pay now, saving Legolas was worth it. Aragorn was ready. Besides, sacrificing himself for his best friend sounded much better that dying, for example, by the vicious hand of orcs.

***

The Prince quickly left the town.

He still could hardly believe that he had been released. The shadow of the fear of the past few days still covered his mind; however, the further he was from Birlinn, the calmer he was and the more he enjoyed his walk home. He felt more like himself, stronger than he had been in the prison. The weather was fine: the sky was clear and the sun was shining warmly, slowly forcing peace into him. Birds were singing loudly and light-heartedly, their sweet voices filling his ears, the beautiful scents of nature reached his nose and the world seemed perfect again. After half an hour of this enjoyable walk his fear and distress had completely disappeared. The elf had hoped to reach Thranduil's Halls before the nightfall, but striding through the meadows, crossing shallow, little streams and treading narrow forest paths among the trees and bushes was so agreeable that he did not hurry along. So it happened that dusk saw him still a few miles from home. Going there in the middle of night and waking everybody up would certainly not be a good idea, so the Prince decided to spend the night in a tree. He quickly climbed a big, old oak and, in a few minutes, was comfortably asleep, listening to the light wind whispering in the foliage of green leaves and fireflies surrounding him, eager to match their own little glows with the elf's.

At dawn he entered the palace. He looked around, quite confused, since he had met no one on his way here. Everyone must still have been asleep. The halls were completely empty so he decided to go to his chamber and simply wait for his father to wake up. He was utterly surprised when he accidently bumped into the King, already awake and visibly anxious.

"Legolas!" Thranduil started in shock. He had been really worried about the Prince and could not sleep because of it. As soon as he recovered from the shock he pulled the younger elf into a warm hug, deeply relieved to see that he was not hurt. "What happened, ion-nin? What caused the delay?" he asked, releasing his son and looking into his eyes. Legolas returned the gaze and quickly related the whole story to him. Thranduil froze for a moment but did not say a word. There was no point. Legolas was home again, safe and uninjured, and that was all that mattered to the King. He sighed and smiled at his son, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"And, pray tell me, where is that troublesome Ranger?" He grinned. "The flowers in the courtyard seem to have lost some of their beauty; you must have been right about trusting him with them," he teased, but the Prince did not smile back and did not laugh at the jest as the King had expected he would. Instead, Legolas frowned, apparently alarmed by the information.

"He is not here?" he asked. A strange kind of unease crept into his heart and he stared into his father's eyes, almost afraid of what he could find there.

"No," Thranduil shook his head. "He disappeared two days ago. I thought he must have secretly followed you. Is he not with you?"

"No…" Legolas said slowly, thinking intensely. Where could Aragorn be? If he was not in Mirkwood, then he certainly must have been looking for his friend, worried about the delay. He had to be on his way to Birlinn, or already in the town. Suddenly the elf heard Burza's voice ring loudly in his mind: A _foolish,_ _dark-haired lad has committed more serious crime…_ _He will be burned instead of you…_ The world seemed to spin around Legolas for a while and he had to lean against the nearest wall for support, the other choice being to fall onto the floor. _Dark-haired. More serious crime. Burned…_ It must have been Strider! He must have found out about the Prince's situation! He must have done this to save the elf…

"Father, I need a horse. The fastest one we have, now. I am afraid there is still something I need to take back from Birlinn. Oh," He tried to smile, but his concern was too deep to let him do this. "And here is the brooch." He mumbled and gave the King the little jewel. Then, he turned back and immediately raced to the stables. He knew he had no time to waste; every single second was important. His heart nearly stopped beating for a moment when he realized that it could have already been too late. Today was the execution day.

***

The door was pushed open and Aragorn, sitting on the floor with his knees pressed to his body, slowly raised his eyes. Burza came in and stood on the other side of the metal bar, crossing his arms on his chest. The Ranger could not read the expression on his face.

"How are you feeling?" the dog trainer asked, smiling. The smile was not one of cheer, though, and Estel was sure that was not a good sign.

"Just perfect." He snorted sarcastically.

"That's great, because it's the last time you are feeling this way. The hour of pain, suffering, screams, and struggling is coming. Enjoy the moment while you can. While your senses and your memory are still under your control," the warden coldly advised. He must have spoken these words many a time, for the manner of speaking was the one of an experienced actor who can affect the audience with his speech, and he simply took pleasure in playing the same role over and over again.

Burza suddenly and quickly turned on his heel and left, but Aragorn did not even notice it, deep in thought and consumed by dread and anxiety. He could lie to Burza, he could put on a mask of carelessness, but he could not deceive himself. He was scared. So very scared. His heart was racing and he could hear it pounding loudly in his chest, beating harshly. He could feel his entire body shaking in fear. Piercing, overwhelming, and overpowering fear. He could not remember being this frightened before. Of course he did not regret the choice he had made. But he was still terrified. Who would not be, knowing for sure that he was to die a very painful death very soon?

***

Burza reentered the prison, a tiny flask in his hand. Without saying a single word he gave it to the Ranger.

"What is it?" Aragorn was not sure he wanted to know the answer, but he hoped that talking to the guard would draw his attention away from the fear at least for a few minutes. He loathed himself for his perceived weakness and was ashamed to realize that he had indeed nearly panicked, though there was nothing really that he could do about it.

"Don't ask. Just drink it," the other man said emotionlessly.

"What if I don't?" Strider decided to carry on the little talk, delaying the inevitable.

"I'll pour it into you by force. Now shut up and drink. Don't waste my time," Burza threatened, showing him his teeth in a very unpleasant manner, almost like he was a growling, snarling dog.

The Dúnadan sighed. He could not delay it any longer. He would rather face his end with pride, and not go down like a coward, the poison forced down his throat. He reluctantly stood up and uncorked the flask. He brought it close to his nose, trying to recognize the liquid by its scent, but the sharp, unfamiliar odor made him jerk his head away. He looked at the flask once again, hesitating, but Burza loudly cleared his throat, rushing at the criminal. Aragorn pressed it to his mouth and drank everything as quickly as possible. He was certain that whatever was inside was going to taste awful, so the faster he emptied the flask, the better. Only after swallowing the last gulp did he realize that it had no taste at all. Instead, it made his entire mouth and throat – literally – burn as if a white-hot piece of coal was thrown there. The man dropped the flask and fell to his hands and knees, coughing and gasping, his eyes going wide from shock and pain. He could hardly breathe. The air entering his mouth seemed to be mercilessly slicing the soft skin of his palate and piercing his lungs.

Suffocating, he managed to raise his eyes and look at Burza. The warden did not even move, only staring indifferently at the prisoner. Their eyes met for a fraction of second. Burza's were cold, unfriendly, and immovable. The dog owner must have seen this reaction to the liquid countless times and so the Ranger's suffering was not impressive to him. Strider's eyes were full pain and fear, fruitlessly looking for the slightest sign of mercy or compassion. His stomach screamed at him, refusing to consume the poison. It was all exceedingly painful. Estel moaned and pressed his forehead against the cold stone floor, desiring to be calmed down. He sighed and breathed in deeply against the hurting, trying to still his breathing. But his heart was already racing, effectively distributing the toxin in his body. He did not know whether it was caused by the fear, the pain, or the poison itself. And unfortunately there was no way to make it slow down.

The metal bar to the cell was pulled open and a mere second later Aragorn was forced into a standing position. His legs refused to support him. He staggered and fell onto the wall, squirming as the suffering was successively taking him over, filling his body and threatening to steal his awareness. He cried out, hoping that this would bring him some relief, though he knew it wouldn't. Unfortunately, it did not. It only seemed to be worse when he remained silent. Screaming and crying out relieved him of tension, and gave him an outlet, but the pain remained the same. Burza firmly took the Ranger by his shoulders and led him out of the prison, supporting his weight with strong hands.

The main center of Birlinn was crowded. Apparently all inhabitants of the town were there to watch the spectacular execution. They roared in approval as Burza and Strider appeared in the middle of the town, just next to a large pile of wood. Aragorn, unable to resist what was happening to him, was tied to a high pole; his hands were bound high above his head with the wood sitting just under his feet. This was where he was going to meet his end. The townspeople gathered around, screaming, insulting, and spitting at him was going to be the last image for his eyes, horrible suffering his last sensation, and pathetic fear his last memory.

The Ranger surrendered. Every single fiber of his body seemed to have changed into pure pain, as if an evil virus had entered every cell in his flesh, destroying its ability to function properly. Still struggling for air, which appeared to be avoiding entering his lungs, he moaned softly and tightly shut his eyelids. He was not strong enough to even feel ashamed of his own weakness. He did not care about it anymore. The omnipresent pain reached his mind, slowly filling his heart, and eventually took over his soul. Aragorn cried, helplessly leaning against the bonds.

The crowd applauded loudly. He carefully opened his eyes, but that just seemed useless as everything was out of focus. A second later Burza, who stood right behind him, took a big stick and viciously smashed it into the Ranger's ribs. Aragorn screamed again, dropping his head, not wishing to look at his tormentor. He started trembling, hardly able to stand the abuse, but his suffering only encouraging everyone to shout in excitement.

Burza was now standing in front of him, talking to the townsfolk, but Estel could not understand the words, his world disoriented. He could not concentrate on anything other than pain. His whole world transformed into great, devastating suffering, which wracked his body mercilessly. Burza finished speaking and the crowd yelled enthusiastically again. Someone else approached Strider and brutally hit him in his stomach. The criminal doubled over and moaned. His eyes were full of tears, making his already blurry vision even more unclear. The poison was already giving him an enormous amount of pain and the blows only made it harder to bear. It all was far too much for the tortured man. He only wished for the end of the agony, not caring in which way that end would be.

His strength was leaving him and Aragorn felt as if he was going to pass out. He limply hung against the bonds, his consciousness slowly fleeing from him. But Burza was more than ready for such an incident and took up a heavy bucket, stepping toward Strider. Then he swiftly poured the water directly onto his head, drenching him. Aragorn did not know what had happened. He automatically jerked, the rapid movement producing even more pain in his body. He sucked his breath in, not able to endure this mistreatment.

There was a little turmoil in the crowd before him, but the world was just a blur to the Ranger, so he did not react to this, hardly even noticing what was going on around him. He was a bit surprised when he realized that someone was in fact elbowing his way through the "audience", but he was too weak and exhausted to ponder why that would be happening. The person made his way to the pile of wood Aragorn was tied above and quickly jumped on the stake, shielding Aragorn with his own body. The Dúnadan could have expected anything. Anything but not this. Strands of long, golden hair waved just in front of his face.

Legolas had arrived only a few minutes earlier and watched the "show" from the beginning. But he could no longer stand the sight of his friend's suffering. It hurt him to observe the way these men had been treating Strider, every blow was twice as painful to him as it was to Aragorn, for it reached not his body, but his heart. Spurred into action by this pain, and love and loyalty toward his friend he had leaped into the crowd to make his way to Estel.

He drew two long and sharp knives, his intentions clear. He would kill anyone that should stand in his way or try to hurt his friend more.

The man who had punched Aragorn in the stomach quickly grabbed a large axe lying next to him, courageously advancing on the elf. Legolas was aware that even the sharpest knife was no weapon against the strength of an axe. He had no choice. He shifted one of his daggers in his hand, and threw it towards the approaching man. The blade stuck into the man's skull with a dull 'thwack' as the man fell dead. For a moment no one dared to move, shocked at seeing how precise a killer the newcomer was. No one else seemed as courageous – or perhaps stupid – as the first man had been. The town simply watched him, frozen in horror.

"Now," Legolas ordered, his voice loud and firm. After all, he was a Prince; he knew how to give orders. "Do not move! Do not resist, do not fight, and no one else will get hurt!" he shouted, fiery hatred clearly visible in his blue eyes. Silence fell upon the town of Birlinn. The elf was a bit surprised; he had expected the people to be much more troublesome. But the easier it all was, the better, and the fewer lives he would have to take. Having no time to spare, he immediately turned to Aragorn and cut off his bonds. The man made to collapse, but Legolas agilely caught him, trying to be as gentle as possible in order to not hurt his friend any further.

"That is our prisoner! Our criminal! He deserves this death! Leave him alone!" Burza bellowed, stepping forward and tightening his grip on a dagger he had seized a few seconds earlier. Legolas only had to raise his own knife and aim to get the warden to stop in his tracks. He could lose a prisoner but he would not lose his life because of one.

Legolas wrapped his left arm around Aragorn's upper body. "Can you walk?" he asked gently, studying his friend with concern. The Dúnadan merely nodded, leaning on the elf, his legs unable to support his weight for longer than a few minutes, his entire body trembling and sweaty. Legolas was aware that he had little time to spare – if any.

Still holding his knife threateningly in his right hand he cautiously left the place. A few people quietly expressed their disappointment but no one tried to stop him effectively thrown into a terrified compliance. They did not wish to end up with a razor-sharp elven dagger in the middle of their forehead.

Legolas hurried out of Birlinn. He had to carry Aragorn all the way to the gate, as the Ranger was incapable of moving on his own. The injured Ranger gasped the whole way to the gate, and was barely – though impressively – conscious. He kept quivering and his vision was still fuzzy. The only consolation for the elf was the fact that Aragorn had at least recognized him. He trustfully wrapped his arms around the Prince's shoulders for support, though his head hung rather flaccidly. Legolas feared for his friend. He had no clue what exactly had been done to him, but considering his current state it must have been something horrible. The elf dreaded to imagine his suffering, his heart already aching in empathy.

When they finally passed the town's main entrance he stopped and whistled in such a high tone that the townspeople and Aragorn were unable to hear him. After a small moment his horse, a large and beautiful white mare came out of the forest and neighed friendly, poking him lightly with her muzzle. Legolas kindly placed the prone human on her back and seated himself behind the man. He carefully wrapped his right hand around Aragorn's chest and the left one around his waist, holding him still and protecting from falling. He murmured a command to the animal and the horse rushed gently forward, careful of both the riders' comfort. Estel moaned nonetheless.

"Shh…" Legolas whispered softly. "Hold on, mellon-nin. All will be fine."

"Legolas…" Speaking was very difficult for the man, but he somehow managed to hoarsely pronounce his friend's name. "It hurts."

"I know." Legolas' tender susurration sounded comforting and Strider attempted to relax against his caring hold. "I promise I will heal you, Aragorn. Just tell me what hurts you. I swear to treat it."

"No…" The Dúnadan denied, venturing a weak smile toward his friend. "No. It hurts." He lacked strength enough for a longer explanation, hoping that his companion would understand him.

"But what exactly hurts you, Estel?" The Prince chose to use his elven name, believing that it would calm the man a bit, also using his melodic voice to try and distract the man. The Ranger swallowed hard, gathering the remaining bit of power he still possessed.

"Living," came a simple, yet heart-breaking, response. Two stray tears forced their way out of Legolas' eyes. He could not stop them, although he really wanted to, tired of his weaknesses. There was nothing more he could say. Nothing would help him now. Nothing _could_ help him now. Absolutely nothing.


	4. Under Death's Wings

**Dedication: To Nina/PeppyPower. Thanks for your help with vocabulary and I pray everything will be fine! **

**A/N: I am very sorry for the long wait! This chapter is somehow longer, so maybe it makes up for it at least a little. **

**4. Under Death's Wings**

Legolas was sitting in the spacious chamber alone. There was no furniture, so he sat on the neatly polished floor, leaning against the wall. He gazed at the door leading to a little adjacent room, waiting impatiently. Every second seemed to last forever and as time passed by the Prince got more and more anxious. He sat in complete silence and did not wish to speak to anyone at present, although at the same time, he longed to hear some news of Aragorn's. He did not know how much time he spent in this position; his mind seemed blank, though in fact it was occupied with dreadful thoughts. Uneasy what-ifs spun around him and terrifying sights immediately appeared before his eyes, as his own imagination seemed to be willing to bury his hope. Aragorn whispering weak words sounding like _farewell_. Aragorn's motionless body. Aragorn's grave. A look of sorrow in Elladan and Elrohir's eyes…

He tried to pull those images aside, not even noticing the ready-to-fall tears that gathered in his eyes, but this proved to be more difficult than he wished. The visions of possible futures without Estel refused to leave him, making his hands shake slightly. He saw Aragorn's grave again, damaged by time and not cleaned by anybody, certainly forgotten by everyone, for the tombstone was cracked and covered with fallen autumn leaves and a cobweb. Legolas shook his head. No, this could not be true. Aragorn could not die; the Prince would not let him.

He breathed in slowly, desperate to calm himself. He would be of no use to anyone, especially to Strider, if he panicked. He took a few more breaths, stilling his trembling body.

Suddenly, he heard someone's soft voice and a moment later the door was slowly pushed open. Legolas quickly stood up and, nearly running, approached Inthan, one of the best healers in Mirkwood.

"How is he?" Legolas immediately asked. His voice was quiet, barely audible even for the other elf. He dreaded the answer, yet was eager to know it at the same time. His concern fought his fear and he could hardly stand the tension.

"Your Highness…" Inthan dropped her gaze, afraid to see pain in Legolas' eyes. She knew that what she was going to say would be _very_ painful. She paused for a moment, wondering how she should tell him the truth in the least sorrowful way. Sadly, such a way did not exist. This was what she hated about being the healer – one always has to tell the truth, no matter how devastating it might be. She simply _had_ to hurt the Prince. "The poison in his system is a very specific one. It works exceedingly slowly. But it does work. It is also a very rare toxin. We do not have any suitable antidote in Mirkwood and cannot neutralize it. He…" She took a deep breath and sighed, cursing her profession in her mind, and still refused to meet Legolas' apprehensive eyes. "He is dying."

The words felt like a sword through his heart. Legolas stopped breathing for a moment, unable to acknowledge the fact. He had feared such a response, but it sounded a thousand times worse and more realistic than it had seemed in his mind. This was impossible! He and Aragorn had survived many dangerous adventures together and they had both been seriously injured an uncountable number of times. But neither of them had ever been in such a poor state. Neither had ever really been close to dying. After all those years of friendship and all those dangers they had been forced to face, the elf considered it nearly impossible for _this_ man to die - not due to anything else than age at least, but Aragorn was still young -- too young to die naturally. Yet this time his friend was really fading away.

He did not answer Inthan. He entered the tiny room, afraid of what he might find there. The place was indeed undersized; there was only one bed inside. He carefully sat on the edge of the soft mattress beside the unconscious Ranger. His breathing was very shallow and this only deepened Legolas' concern and worry. He gently brushed the Dúnadan's hair away from his sweaty face and sighed, his own breath shaking along with his hands - again.

The Prince could hardly believe it all. His friend simply could not die. Not now. Not here. Not this way. He had a purpose in life. He had a loving family that was expecting to see him again. He had his fellow Dúnedain, waiting for his return to the Wilds and longing to accompany his many wanderings in the forests and plains of Middle Earth. And he had a faithful friend. A friend for whom he was now dying.

Legolas shook his head, unable to stand this thought. He was the reason why Aragorn had been poisoned. The Ranger had sacrificed his own life for _him_. How could he ever live with it if he really passed away? He was not worth this. He could not let his friend die. He could not fail him now. There must be a solution! A way to treat the man, to bring him back to life. _Any_ way. Legolas had to try his best to save him; he would do anything.

He turned his head and looked towards the threshold. Inthan was standing there, looking at him sadly, her eyes full of compassion. She had done everything she could to keep Estel alive and she could have taken her leave. But she did not. She did not want to leave the Prince alone. No one should stay alone in such a moment.

"How much time… does he have?" Legolas inquired quietly. He could not believe he had asked this question aloud. Speaking of Aragorn's death himself only made it even more real and possible, it was much worse than if the other elf was saying such words. The situation was overpowering him and his usual elven pride and strength threatened to die away, leaving him broken and crestfallen, with no hope left.

The healer glanced at him sympathetically. "I do not know. It may be hours just as well as weeks," she admitted.

The elf Prince remained silent. He did not know what to say.

"I…" Inthan finally found the courage to look into his eyes, though she hesitated at first. However, the curious look in his eyes and a little spark of hope still visible deep in his pupils encouraged her to continue. "I can slow down the effect. But if there is no help for him it would only make his suffering longer. I am sorry… I am not the right person to decide on such things-"

"Nor am I!" the Prince shouted. His desperation took over; he was incapable of controlling himself at this point. He felt enormously ashamed as he saw a shadow of fear on the healer's face -- he did not mean to hurt her. But he could not suppress his grief and pain any longer. Who would be able to, seeing their best friend die on their behalf? "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just…" He looked back at the unresponsive form of his friend. Inthan noticed that his eyes were full of tears, even as Legolas refused to let them out, frantically struggling to keep his strength from shattering.

"I know." She approached the Prince, crouched in front of him and gently touched his knee, looking back into his eyes, wishing to give him what she as an experienced healer did not have – hope. She had seen many deaths in her long life, and many reasons for them. Numerous elves had died in her arms and several humans – being in much better state than Aragorn – had breathed their last breath in her presence. But sometimes hope and a kind word of encouragement is the only thing one can offer to a grieving person. Sometimes someone's optimism and trust prove better than any medicine.

"Your Highness, there is something on your mind; I can see it. Please, go. Do whatever you think might help your friend. There is no point staying here and waiting for the inevitable. If we do not do anything, he will die anyway. And if there is a chance to help him, it should not be wasted." She whispered softly against her own helplessness. Maybe there were things more powerful than poison, which even elven healers could not fathom. Maybe there still was hope, although she could not see it.

"You are right, Inthan." Legolas breathed out, meeting her gaze. "There is nothing to wait for; I have to act. I have to try everything I can to help him. He would do the same for me. He actually has…" The Prince's voice broke, but he managed to still his shaking, wishing to shrug away his fears and worries as well.

Inthan nodded. "I shall fetch the potion."

He slightly smiled at her and also stood up, his mind already set. "And I will get ready for the journey," he murmured, more to himself than to her, as if assuring himself that this path did not lead to a tragic loss and in the end all fears, worries, and concerns will be replaced by cheerful smiles and carefree laughter. He left the room and unexpectedly ran into a servant as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

"Your Highness!" The other elf's shout of surprise caused by the Prince's sudden apparition stopped Legolas in his path, albeit briefly.

"I am leaving Mirkwood," Thranduilion informed him. "Now. Get me two swift horses and hang a stretcher between them. And add some blankets, too," he ordered, and then rushed towards his private chambers. The servant did not even have enough time to bow before Legolas left, so he simply ran to the stables. He did not understand what exactly was happening, but the Prince seemed to be very nervous and impatient. He must have been in a hurry.

***

Legolas went downstairs, carrying a motionless Aragorn in his arms. He carefully laid the man on the stretcher and examined his gear. Everything was ready. He mounted one of the horses, a beautiful white mare, and headed out of Mirkwood.

He moved rather slowly; he was not used to riding in this manner and he did not want to hurt his friend with the rough movements of galloping horses, but soon he realized that he had to hurry up. Such a slow progress was simply out of question. Strider could not wait. Legolas did not know how much time he had left to spare, so he rode as swiftly as he could. The man was seriously ill and unconscious. Delay was the last thing they needed.

Legolas kept checking the Ranger's condition every five minutes, thoroughly bothered now. Aragorn was in fever; however, his breathing seemed a bit easier after being given the effect-slowing drug. Still, the Prince felt awful, as all he could do for his friend was hurrying on towards Rivendell. Lord Elrond was his last hope. If anyone could save the Dúnadan, it was him. Legolas could only pray that Estel would make it to his father's home.

It was early evening when black clouds gathered over their heads and wind started to blow, announcing the upcoming storm. Legolas was forced to slow down and look for a safe place to hide from the weather. As an elf, he did not care about it that much and was able to travel even in heavy downpour, but the weakened man was in no condition to face both the cold and the rain. The horses would rest a bit, too. They had a very tiring and demanding journey ahead.

After only a few minutes Legolas felt the first drops of water on his skin, more intense with every passing second. He rushed the horses and left the road, desperate to find a suitable shelter as soon as possible, temporarily finding some protection in the broad canopies of leaves aloft and thick trunks of Mirkwood trees.

It was already raining pretty heavily when he finally spotted a little cavern. As soon as he approached it, he saw a flash of light and heard the first thunder strike. The storm had begun. He jumped off the white mare and led the horses into the cave. It was pleasantly dry and if caves could be nice, this one was. Or at least seemed to be when one took into consideration the torrential rain. The elf took a blanket and stretched it on the ground, preparing a warm bedding. He gently laid his unconscious friend on it and covered him with another blanket. Then, he looked around. He needed some more warmth for the Ranger, but since everything outside was wet, he could not build a fire. The blankets had to suffice for now. He unstrapped the stretcher and all his belongings, letting the horses have some rest.

The Prince seated himself next to the Dúnadan. He cleaned his friend's sweaty face with a piece of dry cloth and gently touched his forehead. It was still hot. The elf nearly felt the ill heat radiating from the man. He sighed aloud. There was nothing he could do about the fever and it hurt Legolas badly that he could not ease Strider's suffering. He wished he had been able to take the pain for him. Because _he_ should have been poisoned; _he_ should be suffering now; _he_ should be the one knocking on death's door.

Aragorn was shivering. Cold, stormy, evening air was not doing him good.

Legolas leaned against the wall, thoughts and memories of the last days flashing through his mind. Now that he was alone with his fears and concerns, the sense of guilt rose in his heart and an awful feeling of underachievement touched his soul. He hated sitting in this one place, with his friend dying and the distance to Rivendell not decreasing. This was only a waste of time, a waste of every dear minute. Yet all he could do was wait.

He raised his head and indifferently watched the thunderstorm, trying to focus on anything else than his current situation and Aragorn's poor state. Rain fell in torrents, thunderbolts clapping nearly all the time; the sky was completely dark and the wind blew heartlessly, bending the trees and breaking the thinner and smaller ones. The weather was really bad and Legolas was glad that the entrance to their shelter was relatively small, and thus the wind did not rush in.

Unexpectedly, a little, soaked sparrow cautiously entered the cave, a little piece of Nature stretching her hands towards the tormented companions, a tiny sign of hope amongst the world of dread and helplessness. It looked at the elf suspiciously, not sure whether it was welcome. Legolas did not move, afraid to scare it. In his mind full of grief and distress, this animal was the personification of fairness and good. The bird leapt closer and found itself next to the elf's right foot. The Prince smiled slightly at the confused look on its face, for a split second, pushing his sorrow aside. He reached with his hand to it, inviting the innocent being to join them in their shelter, but the bird only spread its wings and flew up, sitting on a high stone shelf over his head.

The elf sighed. He was tired. Constant fear and concern troubled his mind and he felt weary. He lay down next to the fever-consumed Ranger, delicately pressing Aragorn's head against his chest and placing his hand on the man's heart, not wanting to miss any changes in the heartbeat. He spoke softly in Elvish to his unconscious friend, trying to force some hope and strength into him and pleading not to give in, until sleep finally claimed him.

***

Legolas woke up. For a while he was not sure where he was, but his memory returned as soon as he looked at the unmoving man now laying a few steps from him. In his sleep, the Prince must have rolled away and had been unable to monitor his state. He quickly pushed himself to his knees and checked on the human. Nothing had changed during the night: Aragorn was still in fever, sweaty and unconscious, his breathing neither harder nor easier than it had been in the evening.

The elf stood up and went out of the cave. The storm was gone. The early morning air was fresh and cool – maybe a little too cool for Strider – and Legolas was afraid that it would worsen his state, but he hoped that the warm sunlight would wash away the chill. The horses were outside, too, plucking grass. The white mare gave a friendly neigh when she saw him and approached her master, gently touching his shoulder.

"Yes, we are leaving in a while," he assured the animal, running his hand through her mane. The horse neighed again, as if acknowledging his decision. Legolas breathed in deeply; he really needed this moment of silence and calmness – even if it was very short. The simple gesture of friendship from the animal had a positive effect on him and the uncomfortable, stressful tension in his stomach disappeared for some time. Yet he could not stand like this forever, no matter how much he would have liked to. He had to keep moving, to reach Imladris as soon as he could. He re-hung the stretcher between the horses. Then he carefully wrapped one of the blankets around his friend's motionless body and placed him on it. Having quickly gathered all his possessions, he mounted his mare and set out.

Another day of struggle for Aragorn's life and the desperate race against time had begun.

***

The next few days were relatively calm. They rode swiftly and Legolas was satisfied with the pace. The horses fared better than the elf had expected and Strider's general condition did not change, which he considered a good sign and interpreted as the proof that the Ranger did not mean to succumb. At least – not yet.

They managed to cross the Great River five days later, heading for the mountain pass. They were still far from Rivendell and Legolas' fear kept increasing every day. Aragorn was getting weaker and weaker – the elf could feel it distinctly, though the man was still alive. However, Legolas was afraid that every single hour would be the last one for his friend.

Every evening, after building a camp, the Prince sang him different songs or simply talked to him in Elvish. He was not sure whether the man could hear him or not, yet he hoped that the natural beauty of the Grey Tongue helped at least a little. And even if it was useless for Estel, the sweet sounds always eased the elf's troubled mind and helped his weary body relax. The native language gave him new strength and faith.

After two days he managed to reach the high pass. He agilely made a camp and laid his tormented friend on the ground, near the fire. He stared blankly at the light emitted by the flames. The sky was clouded and nearly starless tonight. The best source of light was the fire. Legolas sat near it, holding the unresponsive Ranger close and wishing he could somehow share with him his own strength, or give him his health. But he could not. He only hoped that his presence would stop the man from yielding. He again started to sing a well-known lullaby, expecting – or hoping – it to help the Dúnadan.

To his horror, he realized that Aragorn was not breathing properly anymore. He was visibly suffocating, his breathing shallower, harder, and faster than it should have been. Apparently the drug he had been given in Mirkwood was wearing off and the poison was slowly taking him over again. Legolas had no time to think what he should do. He quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed a small bowl and a flask of water. He poured the water to the bowl and heated it, meanwhile also fetching a little sack, from which he pulled out a few leaves. He smashed and threw the herb into the water, never ceasing to sing, although his distress showed clearly in his light voice.

The pleasant, calming scent surrounded him immediately. Thank the Valar that he had decided to take the herbs with him! He drew the bowl closer to the Ranger, taking a soft cloth and washing his face with the salve and praying that it would work. That was all he could do. The elf delicately pulled Strider into his arms and rocked him, still whispering some Elvish prayers, begging the human to stay with him. Aragorn could not die now, not when they were only a few days' ride from Imladris. But Legolas was not so utterly sure that Lord Elrond would be able to heal the young man anymore. He feared that it could be too late by now, that Aragorn was already beyond any help and that the poison had damaged his friend completely, stealing not only his health and consciousness, but also the will to live.

Fortunately, athelas seemed to be working. Aragorn was not suffocating any longer, yet his breathing was still not normal – it was shallow and irregular, instead. Legolas sat, unmoving, still holding Strider, for quite a long time. He did not speak anymore, lost in thought, remembering the countless adventures they had survived, the fearful and happy moments in their lives. How long had they known each other? Legolas was not sure how long exactly it had been, but the count would be in years. And now? How much time of friendship did they have ahead? Was it years as well? Or was their eternal parting to be in a matter of minutes? The Prince had no answers for his questions. All he had at this point was desperation – desperate hope, desperate struggles, desperate prayers and desperate thoughts. He was slowly drowning in this desperation, forgetting that there was anything else in the world than his dying friend. And this was a mistake.

Suddenly, a frightened cry of one of the horses forced him back to reality. He looked around and froze for a second. Four big, skinny, and, undoubtedly, starving wolves were attacking the animal, roaring hatefully and exposing their razor-sharp teeth. One of the beasts leapt towards the stallion's neck, biting into the soft flesh. The horse cried again as another wolf jumped on his back, viciously ripping off his skin. He tried to kick his attackers in panic, neighing threateningly, yet the cunning creatures surrounded him, snarling, but not advancing on him anymore. Once the arteries had been torn, all they had to do was wait for their prey to bleed to death. The white mare was running around the camp, trying to avoid being surrounded. Two wolves were following her constantly, like two fatal shadows that were not going to let her escape.

Legolas could not help the poor stallion; that would require moving away from Strider and putting his life at risk. This was something he could not do. As much as he hated leaving the animal to its death, he would never endanger his friend. Not when his life already was in danger and he could not defend himself in any way. He seized his bow and aimed, whistling softly. The mare turned instantly and ran toward him, the wolves pursuing her too slow to follow suit. The elf immediately released the arrow and one of the beasts fell dead. The second one hesitated, giving the Prince enough time to notch another arrow and shoot again. The remaining wolf dropped dead as well.

Three new wolves had just joined the pack and watched the mare with their hungry eyes. She approached the Prince, ready to be mounted to run away from the wolven siege. The elf carefully placed Aragorn on her back, eyes stuck on the wolves, and quickly jumped behind the unconscious man, keeping him straight, and hoping that the horse could make it. And then, gently but firmly, rushed the mare.

She sped away from their camp and the wolves. The three newcomers, however, decided to follow her, unable to resist the opportunity of hunting a big, undoubtedly very tasty, elven horse. Two of them ran behind her and, after a few minutes, were able to advance far enough to find themselves on each side of the horse. Their eyes glowed ominously in the dim starlight. Legolas could not see the third one; it must have disappeared somewhere in the bushes, which was definitely not a good sign. The elf knew far too well that wolves hunt in packs and cooperate with some kind of strategy. That creature had not vanished without a purpose.

Unexpectedly, the wolf to his right leapt towards them, growling and showing its teeth. Fortunately or not, it missed its aim and instead of biting the horse, it caught the Prince's ankle. Legolas did not know what saved his leg from being crushed. It might have been the fact that the wolf was a bit surprised by its failure and did not clench its teeth as strongly as it had intended. It might have been the fact that the elf kicked the attacker as soon as it made contact with his skin. It might have been sheer luck as well. However, Legolas did not care about the reason of this fortunate incident. He only registered that the animal was now left behind and unable to catch up on them again.

Unfortunately, the wolf to his left was still there. It snarled at the Prince, as if warning him that it could jump at them as well and would not miss, but only kept running by their side for some time, not seeming to get tired by the pace. Its eyes flashed in the darkness every time it turned its head to look at the prey it was chasing, leaving a clear message: it was not going to give up on them.

Legolas held Aragorn close to his chest with his right arm and moved the left one towards his waist. He quickly unsheathed a long, hunting dagger, preparing himself for what he expected to be the wolf's attack. But the attack did not come from left, nor right, nor from behind.

Paying attention only to the wolf to his left, the elf forgot about the one that had left the company at the beginning. It choose its timing well, jumping at the path in front of the white mare and blocking her way. She stopped immediately, rearing and whinnying in fear. It took all Legolas' skills and riding experience not to fall off and, what was the more difficult task of not letting his unconscious friend fall either. To make matters worse, the wolf that had been following them since they had left the camp, managed to stop instantly as well and this time did not hesitate to leap. Legolas was forced to release his hold on Aragorn and twisted, turning towards the wolf. He managed to stab it into its forehead, killing it at the same moment. Unfortunately, the motionless wolf landed on equally motionless Aragorn and the impact threw them both off the white mare. Legolas quickly reached out to catch Estel, but to his horror, his helping hand came a fraction of second too late, his fingers grabbing only air. He froze for a second, not knowing what was worse: the fact that the unconscious man had fallen or the new threat: for the third wolf, the one that had scared the horse, was now running towards the still form on the ground.

Had he not been elven, Legolas would have never acted rapidly enough to save his friend from the pathetic fate. Luckily, his reflex and precision allowed him to dismount, unsheathe another knife, and stand between the man and the wolf just in time to stop the beast. The rushing animal did not slow down. It jumped at the Prince's chest, roaring hatefully, its white, sharp fangs flashing mere inches before his face. But Legolas was more than ready for this and did not hesitate to pierce the attacker's skull with his blade. However, the force of the jump blew him backwards. A quiet moan escaped the elf's mouth when his shoulders pounded into the hard, unforgiving ground. As soon as he threw the wolven corpse off himself, Legolas hastily rose to his feet and approached Aragorn, who was lying on his side, and kneeled beside him.

He was very scared, but the wolves were not the cause anymore.

Aragorn's breathing had become even harder now; he could hear the air whistling in his larynx. The Ranger could not wait. He needed help as soon as possible or he was not going to last. Legolas quickly ran his hands through the man's body, hoping that he would not discover any broken bones. He sighed in relief, as he found none. However, the Dúnadan's state was still serious. The elf beckoned on the mare and gently placed him on her back. He slipped on her behind his human companion and set off once again, praying both for the man, and for the horse's endurance and speed.

Legolas rode as fast and as long as he could now. Keeping his friend seated on the horse's back was probably not a good thing for him, but the Prince had reached the point where he did not care about anything other than the man's life. Thus, swiftness was all that mattered.

They travelled all night and day. However, in the evening the exhausted horse refused to carry them and came to a halt, demanding some rest. She had been pushing herself extremely hard and was simply incapable of keeping the harsh pace any longer. Legolas did not like it at all, but having no other choice, stopped for a short while. The following hours were some of the worst, and most nerve-racking, of his life.

Aragorn's state was not stable anymore. Although his breathing seemed to be slightly easier once he did not have to endure horseback riding, and the fever abandoned him, his body temperature was now swiftly declining, quickly becoming dangerously low. He was shaking in the evening chill and Legolas, having left behind all his belongings during the wolf attack, had no blankets to warm him even a tiny bit. The elf hated the fact that he had to wait here and watch his friend's condition worsen, with no means to help him. He realized that he had no chances to bring the Ranger alive to Rivendell without a horse. Yet he believed in Estel and in his strength. He had no choice. If he did not believe in him, no one would. Legolas desperately wanted the man to know that he had to fight, that he could not yield. Someone in this world needed him.

"You saved me," he whispered, holding the motionless Dúnadan in his arms and lulling him, as if it could help one of them. "You saved me, and I do not know whether I can save you. I know what you have done and I did not even thank you, Aragorn." He sighed. "I do not know if I had ever deserved such a precious gift: a true friend. Maybe I should not ask you for more, but… Please, mellon-nín, do just one more thing for me. Come back. Don't leave. Please, don't. I will take you to your father. Lord Elrond will know a way to heal you, I am sure he will. Everything will be fine, I promise. Just… Just don't die, Estel."


	5. The Last Homely House

Uhmmm...? Is anyone still reading? Anyway, I am extremely sorry the long wait! I know too long waits are awful and may even cause the reader to lose their interest... Again, I am very sorry it took so long. And great thanks to my beta Istnes!!

Now enjoy!

* * *

**5. The Last Homely House**

Legolas was exceedingly tired. When his horse had regained some strength, he had forced her to run as swiftly as possible again, desperate to arrive at Rivendell before it was too late. He had not ceased to move on since they set out. Unfortunately, the white mare, already tired and not rested enough, had not been able to carry them all the way to Rivendell. Exhausted, she had refused to sprint once more; only a mile away from the Last Homely House. The elf had tried to encourage her to at least try to continue, but it had been futile. Thus, he had no choice but to dismount and walk on foot, carrying Aragorn in his arms. He hated the fact that he had left his loyal horse alone, but he was sure she would find her way to Rivendell when she was strong enough. After all, she had treaded this road countless times.

What is more, the Ranger really could not wait any longer. As he walked, Legolas constantly feared that Aragorn's every breath would be his last. No, Strider could not die here. Not just a few steps from his childhood home. After this long, demanding and dangerous journey from Mirkwood, his death so near their destination would be a malicious irony of fate.

He finally reached the gate of Imladris in the early morning. He was so spent that he was hardly able to tell the guard why he had come. Fortunately, the other elf had known both Legolas and Aragorn for a long time, as well as their unusual ability to get into trouble. A quick glance allowed him to infer that they had gotten into it again and the situation was very serious.

"Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir are hunting in the woods, but Lord Elrond is home," he stated, leading the wood-elf across the courtyard. The Prince of Mirkwood simply nodded. They met Elrond on the stairs leading to his house. An ill presentiment had awakened him an hour prior and he had gotten up then, feeling that he would not sleep any more, anyway. He had seen the fair-haired being and his foster son from the window when they entered and hurried down, fear for the latter creeping into his heart. His keen eyes noted every detail of the scene in the patio. They must have been in great need of help indeed, otherwise the son of Thranduil would not look so scared and determined and Estel would not be that pale and limp.

"Legolas? What happened?" the elf lord asked immediately, not even bothering to greet the guest. There was no time for official actions. Experienced as he was, Elrond could feel the weakness in Aragorn's motionless body and if only abstract things were seeable, he would be able to see his strength slowly, yet constantly evaporating from him.

"He has been poisoned," Legolas said quickly, letting the Lord of Rivendell take Aragorn from him and obediently followed inside. "I do not know the name, nor the content of the poison. I only know it is a slow-working one," he reported. They quickly walked through a long corridor. A stranger might have felt intimated by its largeness, but Legolas was familiar with the place enough to know that they were going to the little healing room, situated near Lord Elrond's private chambers. Both himself and Strider had been healed there many a time. "We slowed down the reaction so that he would get to Rivendell alive. I hope he… I mean… He has?" The younger elf turned his crystal, hopeful eyes towards the ageless, wise face, praying that the answer would be yes. If the situation had not been so grave, he would have felt ashamed by the childish sound of this question. Yet at this moment his elven pride was forgotten, worry clearly scrawled across his face.

They entered the room and Elrond gently laid the unconscious man on the bed. Legolas suddenly found himself surprised by the uncomfortable sensation of déjà-vu he experienced at that moment. For a second he thought he was back in Mirkwood, the feeling of failure and helplessness threatening to overwhelm him. He knew it was unreasonable; he knew they were in Imladris and Lord Elrond was going to take care of Aragorn, he noticed even that this room was not similar to the one in Thranduil's realm at all. It was bigger and brighter, and seemed to be filled with both optimism and professionalism. Still, he could not shrug the unpleasant sensation away.

Elrond turned and looked into the Prince's eyes, sighing quietly. "Hardly."

Legolas swallowed, incapable of saying a single word. So it was that close? Yes, he should have known this: he had seen his friend's state worsen since the day of the execution in Birlinn. He simply kept refusing to acknowledge the possibility of the man's death. If Aragorn really died, the elf would not be ready for it. Not after the journey, not in Imladris, not under Lord Elrond's care.

The wood-elf stood in one place, staring at the still body of the man who had become his brother, his dearest friend. A helping hand and a shoulder to cry on. The unsteady rising of his chest was now barely noticeable. He was dying again, just like in Mirkwood. Or had he been dying all the time since then? All the way to Rivendell? What had he done to deserve such a fate?

Elrond disappeared in the adjacent room, where different herbs and medicines were stored. Legolas heard him open some jars or whatever other containers Elrond had, collecting everything he needed. This did not last long, probably only a few seconds; yet to the Prince it felt like eternity. Looking at his friend, unable to do anything more, he felt an urge to ask the elf lord to hurry up. Aragorn could not wait any longer and, although he knew that Elrond was moving as fast as he could, eager to avoid even the tiniest delay, it still seemed too slow to the fair-haired elf. Finally, the healer returned, carrying some mysterious ingredients.

"Legolas, could you please build a fire?" he asked, placing everything on a little table standing by the wall and glanced towards the cold fireplace. The younger elf nodded and quickly set to work, remembering how unnaturally cold Estel was.

"Did you notice any characteristic symptoms that may help me identify the poison?" the Master of Rivendell continued his interrogation. He needed every little piece of information he could gather.

"Constant fever at first," Legolas started to list. Immediately, the fresh, horrific memories appeared in his mind. His heartbeat accelerated as the déjà-vu and the echo of that fear returned. The elf could now see every detail of the scene he had mentioned, every drop of sweat on his friend's face and every dreadful word he had heard from Inthan, the Mirkwood healer. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them, trying to concentrate on the fire again. He would have preferred to avoid reliving it all, but he knew how important it was for Lord Elrond to hear everything. "When we were in the mountains, he could not breathe properly. I managed to help him fight it off. Unfortunately, the trouble returned later. It was even worse than for the first time. And later his fever disappeared, but he turned deadly cold instead," he finished, shuddering at the last sentence.

Elrond nodded, thinking for a moment. "Thank you," he murmured, smiling at the Mirkwood elf, who was still standing next to the fireplace. Now light, warm flames were dancing on the wood, the room seemed now much cozier than before. "Legolas, I can see you are exhausted. Please, get some sleep; it will do you good. I will send for you when I finish and then I would hear the whole story of your adventure; but now you need to rest, young Prince," he kindly advised.

The fair-haired elf wanted to protest, he would have preferred to stay here and help, but he understood that Lord Elrond was right. Legolas was truly very tired; he would be of no help in this shape. Maybe he would be able to aide later. Besides, if Elrond needed some privacy to introduce whatever he considered necessary, Legolas should not disturb him. He only mumbled something incomprehensible and left the chamber.

When the door was closed behind the Prince, Elrond sighed deeply. He could hide his dreadful feelings and predictions from him, putting on the mask of calmness and certainty, yet he could not deceive himself. The situation was indeed very grave. Though the fire lighting the room now grew much bigger; the Ranger's spark of life was very weak, getting even dimmer as time passed. The father and the healer in the elf lord desperately fought against each other. His experience and knowledge told him that the man would, most likely, not survive this day. But his love for Estel did not let him abandon hope. He had to save him. There was no other option.

He sat next to the unconscious Dúnadan and placed his hand on the man's forehead. Aragorn was very cold. He pressed his finger to his neck, checking the pulse. It was very weak, but it was there. Strider's breathing was irregular and shallow, little oxygen was being delivered throughout his body, undoubtedly too little to keep him alive and functioning for much longer. Elrond had to hurry up or it would be too late and Aragorn would be beyond any help. The elf gently lifted the man's eyelids, letting the fierce morning sunlight reach his eyes and examined the reaction. To his great concern, the Ranger's pupils were completely unresponsive, not adjusting to the amount of light entering the eyes. It should not be this way. Aragorn's body was not acting as a healthy one would. He was in an extremely poor state.

Silently, Lord Elrond set to work, preparing the mixture he believed would be able to neutralize the toxin in his foster son's body.

***

Legolas quietly closed the door and slowly headed downstairs towards the guest quarters. His light elven steps made no sound on the floor. The thick silence of the surroundings wasn't even disturbed by the wind rustling in the foliages of the trees outside. All the elf could hear was the fast, nervous beating of his heart. The rising level of adrenaline in his system did not ease his distress. In fact, it just kept his apprehension from fading.

Having slept in Rivendell numerous times, he automatically found his way to the guest room he had always used and, without giving it a thought, lay in the bed he would often call his. Lord Elrond had been right: sleep would definitely do him good. Legolas was so tired he did not even bother to wash his face, he only wished for the sweet slumber to claim him. Despite his overwhelming weariness, sleep did not come to the elf Prince, his anguish shrugged it away every time his fatigued muscles tried to relax or his tormented mind attempted to lapse into desired oblivion.

How could he sleep when Aragorn was fighting for his life? How could he calmly regain strength when his friend was losing his own?

His thoughts focused on the Ranger. Surely it was not his time to tread the Halls of Mandos? Oh, Valar, no, it could not be! Legolas could not remember ever wanting anything more than he now wanted the man to survive. He simply knew that Aragorn _was_ strong enough to return to life, he only needed something to help him activate that strength. The elf prayed that he was not mistaken. However, a dark shadow of doubt was present in his heart. What if he actually _was_ incorrect?

Legolas entirely trusted Lord Elrond's skills. He had learned to do so long ago. Yet sometimes a skilled healer and proper medicine are not enough. If the Ranger had given up on his life, no one could help him. The gloomy thought flashed in his mind and the Prince did not even notice the fact that he clenched his fists and bit his lip, desperately trying to force himself to fully believe that he had not lost his friend yet and Aragorn was not fighting a losing battle. If he was fighting at all…

The elf grabbed a handful of the blanket beneath him, afraid that he might start shaking , willing himself to prevent it. Stress and fear were affecting him much more than he would have liked to admit. He shuddered again at the possibility of Strider's death. No, he could not submit to such reactions, this would not help anyone, neither the dying human nor the elven Prince. Inhaling deeply, he stilled himself, trying to clean his mind of grim thoughts. He should not be thinking about his potential loss unless it came to pass. He had not failed to believe in Aragorn and he was not going to do so in the last stage of the man's journey towards life and health.

However, his own body did not fully obey him. A short memory of how poorly the Ranger had been faring lately produced an unpleasant, tense sensation in his stomach and strange dizziness in his head. Fright made his heart pound even faster and louder. He glanced sideways, making sure the window was open and then closed his eyes, respiring deeply again, honestly surprised. He had experienced a lot of stress in his life before and it had never had such an effect on him. He remembered Aragorn getting sick from stress once, but he could not recall it happening to an elf. Was he weaker than he thought or was it the result of the gravity of the situation? Legolas did not want to know the answer. It would not help him fight the feeling off anyway.

He concentrated on the pleasant scents and sounds that slight wind brought from the outside. His keen nose caught the aroma of blooming flowers and some nice smells from the kitchen. He heard water whispering somewhere in the forest and gentle, soughing breeze in the nearby tree leaves. He could not help imagining everything he smelled or heard. The world must have been beautiful, yet the Prince could not see its beauty right now. He was focused on what was happening in the little room on the floor above. How could anything be pretty to him while his best friend was dying there? Although he was relieved to realize that his lightheadedness was now fading, he felt he would trade anything – his own welfare and health included – for the Ranger's life.

How long would he be waiting until he received some news? He did not know whether saving a badly poisoned man was time-consuming or not. His anxiety did not let him rest even a little. Burying his growing impatience, he decided to stay in bed. Disturbance was the last thing he wanted to cause: an occupied healer should not be distracted by his patient's friend, no matter how worried that friend was.

***

The midday sun was high above the horizon. Lord Elrond was sitting on the edge of Estel's bed. He gently laid his hand on the man's forehead, looking at his unnaturally pale face with great concern. The man did not look well. His skin lacked any color and he was still unhealthily cold. Elrond sighed, tenderly stroking his head. He pulled the blanket up, covering the man's shoulders to help warm him as much as possible.

He had sent Legolas to bed a few hours earlier and was a bit surprised that the Prince was not pacing in the corridor by now, awaiting any news on his friend's condition. But there was no news yet. The elf lord had done everything he could. All that was left now for him to do was wait for what he hoped would be a positive reaction to his treatment. He was tired, though. Fighting for Aragorn had been hard and still wasn't over, though the most difficult part was already behind them.

There was no need to torment Legolas with further waiting. Elrond was positive the Prince had not slept, but he could not blame him for that. He could perfectly understand his unease and decided to send for him immediately.

"How is he?" the other being inquired before he had even fully entered the room. Elrond waited to give the response until Legolas halted. With a friendly gesture, he invited him to sit on the chair standing by the wall. The Prince sat down wordlessly, turning his searching gaze to the older elf, trying to read his face.

"Weak and unconscious," the Lord of Rivendell answered quietly, meeting the wood-elf's stare with painful honesty. "His breathing is much calmer now and I believe that is a good sign. However, I cannot tell anything for sure."

"But he will live?" Legolas interrupted quickly, anxiety marring his normally perfect – as many liked to say – elven features.

"I do not know." There was immense pain in the half-elf's voice. His eyes shied away from the fair-haired elf's look. This uncertainty brought him enough hurt, speaking it aloud and passing the doubt and fear into another heart made it even worse. The young Prince swallowed hard and rose from his seat. He approached the other side of Strider's bed and sat there, studying the motionless form. He timidly brushed the Ranger's shoulders, nearly afraid to touch him at all, as if this slight contact could cause him more harm or disturb the slow process of healing. A single stray tear found its way out of the Prince's eye and, although he wiped it secretly, pretending that he was simply pulling his hair away from his face, it did not pass unnoticed by the old, wise elf lord.

"Legolas, could you tell me the entire story of this adventure, now? What exactly happened?" Elrond questioned. He wanted to both learn the reason of his foster son's ill condition and occupy the other being's mind. The son of Thranduil nodded and summarized their misadventure with as many details as he could, struggling to keep his voice from shaking at the moments of great fear or suspense, but to no avail. The memories were hard to deal with, considering the fact that everything was not over yet and Aragorn's survival was not as certain as they would have liked it to be. The Master of Rivendell did not interrupt, but listened carefully, watching Legolas, though the Prince did not look directly at the listener the whole time. His gaze ran to Strider when he described the execution, and the tale of their journey to Imladris was spoken to either the wall or his own hands. He did not know why he was afraid of looking into Elrond's eyes. He was sure he would not be reprimanded for taking wrong actions if such thing had happened. He came to the conclusion that he did not wish to see the emotions in his eyes. The wise lord could keep his thoughts away from his features, but Legolas had learned to read his eyes, which in moments of distress were likely to give him away, especially when one of his beloved was in danger.

Yet saying that the Mirkwood Prince did not meet Elrond's eyes at all during his speech would be a blatant lie. Every time his voice broke, and there were a few such incidents, the old, friendly gaze encouraged him to continue, acknowledging his every word. When the young elf was incapable of keeping his feelings at bay and his voice was shaking, the dark eyes offered comfort and calmness. Though those eyes spoke a lot, Elrond made no sound during the speech. Even if he had wanted to comment, he did not let it show. Legolas had to overcome his emotions by himself and so the Lord of Rivendell did not interfere, knowing that the silent acceptance and patience helped him the most.

When the Prince finished, utter silence reigned in the chamber. They chose not to break it for a while, both deep in thought. Elrond analyzed all he had just learned, everything was suddenly clear in his mind. Legolas contemplated the present and the future, remembering their little conversation and the agonizing uncertainty in the elf lord's voice. Was there any hope left? If Elrond was not sure whether the Ranger would live and worried, could he not be bothered himself?

Unexpectedly, Lord Elrond stood up, slowly straightening his back, aching from the hours spent in the bent position. Legolas did not notice this, his concentration among his thoughts, not surroundings. "Excuse me, Legolas, but I must admit I am a bit tired. I shall grab some rest. Will you stay with Estel for some time?" he asked. He was indeed weary and it was not wise tire himself any longer. The man's state seemed to be stable at present, so leaving his side was safe, especially if Legolas was to occupy his place. The elf feared that his skills and strength might still be necessary in near future, so retiring for the time being sounded sensible.

"Yes," the fair-haired being murmured absently, not even attempting to raise his eyes. He stared dully at the opposite wall, indifferent to what was happening around him. The Lord of Rivendell sighed, easily reading his feelings. He had been afraid of such an effect of his earlier words on the other one. He had to change Legolas' perception of the situation; pessimism was not what they needed now. He soundlessly approached the young Prince and laid his hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention and forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Legolas, he is not dead. It is not too late, thanks to you and your swiftness, for which and I am eternally beholden to you. If it had not been for you, he would have had no chance for survival. However, and I will not lie to you, I am not certain what will come. But I do know that Aragorn is strong and he will not yield. Let us hope it will be well, dear Prince. Do not grieve, for the time of sorrow has not come yet."

The wood-elf blinked, not sure what to say when he realized what he had just done. He could not believe he had nearly denied Aragorn hope. He felt ashamed of his lack of belief in his friend at the moment when he needed him the most.

"Have faith, Legolas. Let him know that he is not alone. If there is anything you can do for him, this must be it." The elf lord smiled warmly. For a moment Legolas did not respond at all, holding Elrond's gaze and reading the message in his eyes again. He could easily tell that Estel's foster father was troubled himself, though he still let his eyes beg the young elf not to lose hope in the Ranger. The fair-haired being nodded somewhat hesitantly, yet obediently. Elrond, however, did not drop his gaze for a while. Then, he gently squeezed Legolas' shoulder and turned to leave the room.

"Legolas," he turned to the Prince, halting only a few steps from the threshold. The wood-elf raised his head, looking at the other one. "Please, inform me if anything in his condition should change."

Thranduilion smiled at him, honestly shining through. "I hope that there will be no need to."

"Do not speak of such things," Lord Elrond grinned at him despite his own weariness and the seriousness of the situation. "I meant positive changes as well." His remark immediately lightened the younger elf's mood as Legolas' smile widened. They did not talk anymore. Elrond simply left and headed towards his private chambers.

Legolas stayed in the room, yet his heart was not filled with sadness or gloom. He gently laid his hand on Aragorn's chest, careful not to inflict too much pressure on his friend's body. He scanned the man's still form, his eyes rested on the pale, cold face. Strider's eyelids were tightly closed, as if he was sleeping. Legolas opened his mouth, but no sound came from him for a moment. He wanted to say something to the Ranger, praying that Estel could somehow sense his presence, hear his voice. "Your father is right, Aragorn. It will be fine. I believe it will. And I will be here, mellon nín, waiting for you to awaken."


End file.
